


Little Watson-Holmes

by Strange_johnlock



Series: Watson-Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, John Is a Good Boyfriend, John is a good father, M/M, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication, Mpreg, Parenthood, Pregnancy, Sherlock is a Good Parent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, god those boys should just talk for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-16 05:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: “I want a baby, John.”“Ah.” John says, nothing more. He looks surprised and Sherlock doesn’t know whether that is good or bad.Or: the day Sherlock decides he wants a child and John somehow agrees to another adventure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to my wonderful beta Reader Amelia and to _emilypins on Instagram for her Feedback and honest opinion. You both helped this story so much.
> 
> I wanted to write mpreg for such a long time and this Story just gushed out of me and onto the page. 
> 
> chapter 2 is finished and will be uploaded as soon as beta reading is done

It is Rosie’s fault in the end. She is not only indescribably cute; she is also curious and loving and sometimes she’s annoying and interrupts his experiments. He loves her.

First, he does it off as the panic a lot of women and carriers get in the years before their menopause. Never before has he felt the urge to procreate; to hand on his genes. It’s a kind of egoism that happens out of love. He wants to love someone as much as he loves Rosie. A child that is his. And John’s, of course. He wouldn’t want his DNA mixed with anyone else’s but John’s.

When he has time between cases and spending time with her and John, he does his research on pregnancy and parenthood. He finds an expert on carrier pregnancy, Dr. Garcia. He even allows Mycroft to check her background.

He changes his diet, even tries cooking for himself until John bans him from the kitchen in fear of 221B burning down.

He plans a nursery, asks Mrs Hudson for the basement flat.

Now all he needs to do is tell John.

* * *

 

“I want a baby.” Sherlock says. John turns around, cursing and picking his towel from the floor.

“What the hell, Sherlock. Have you ever even heard the word privacy?” He steps out of the shower, water falling from his hair.

“You tend to agree to my suggestions faster when uncomfortable. So, do I need to repeat myself?”

Sherlock sits down on the closed toilet lid, crossing his legs. 

“God, Sherlock. Why are you doing this to me?” John shakes his head, but he seems at least a little amused. Good, that’s good.

“I want a baby, John.”

“Ah.” John says, nothing more.He looks surprised and Sherlock doesn’t know whether that is good or bad. After all those years reading John’s feelings is still difficult. John is an emotional man and he has an expressive face that drives Sherlock crazy from time to time. He wants to explain, tell John about his plan. 

They get interrupted by Lestrade and a triple murder.

When the case is solved (it was the priest) Sherlock leaves John a syringe and a hot water bottle in the bathroom. He hears John coming downstairs and gets under the blankets. A warm environment is preferable for sperm. Sherlock has done experiments on temperature on his own semen. Luckily for him, John is still very much a military man and his morning routine is always the same.

Wake up at six, come downstairs and switch the kettle on, use the loo and shower until half seven. Shave, get dressed, make breakfast.

John pours water into the kettle, right on schedule and then makes his way to the bathroom. A minute later, the door to Sherlock’s room opens. John looks confused, his hair all ruffled up from sleep.

“What the hell is that in the bathroom?”

“Well, as you so often said, you are not gay.  You would not want to have penetrative sex with me to get me pregnant. So, I thought we would put your daily morning wank in the shower to good use.”

John goes pale. “Wait. What…? You want to have that baby with... me?” He looks honestly surprised.

“How could you be so dense John? Of course, I do. Since I called you my family during our… adventure with Eurus you have referred to me as your family on four different occasion. I want to add one more member to the family. So, get on with it. You have…” He picks up his phone from the night stand. “…four and a half minutes to ejaculate.”

John shakes his head. “And when did you want to tell me about your plan?”

“I’m telling  you now.”

“You really are a mad man.”

* * *

 

The best thing about John Watson is that no matter how mad he thinks Sherlock is, he always agrees to his crazy plans after some persuasion. Not because he doesn’t have a will of his own, of course. He trusts Sherlock. After all they went through, he still trusts him. This time, it’s not about bringing themselves into mortal danger, chasing criminals. A child is something completely different. it’s a lifelong responsibility and frankly, Sherlock is surprised when John doesn’t even make a fuss.

* * *

 

So, for the past two months John’s morning routine has one or two more steps (not every day of course. Sherlock keeps track of his most fertile days).

They don’t really talk about it, just do it, as they have always done. It’s a habit they should get rid of, but don’t.

Sherlock takes four pregnancy tests. He gets more and more frustrated with the experiment.

* * *

 

The fifth test is positive. Even with the result of the experiment turning out just as he wanted it to, Sherlock is overwhelmed by contradicting feelings, joy and fear being the most prominent. He read about this. Wanting to be a parent and being a parent is different. Responsibility is scary, even to a genius.

Sherlock runs into the living room to tell John, but he isn’t there. Dull surgery, dull job. He doesn’t even know why John is still working there. They don’t need the money, not even with the baby on the way. Sherlock has done calculations on this beforehand. Still, John insists.

So, Sherlock puts the pregnancy test on the desk next to John’s laptop. It isn’t, in the end, his fault that the test somehow gets covered by newspapers is thrown out by Mrs. Hudson before John has the chance to see it.

It also isn’t his fault that over the next two weeks he is too involved in the case of a stolen jewel and a murdered gardener. He wonders, of course, why John won’t talk about the pregnancy at all, but then he has never understood emotions, John’s in particular and decides to just wait until John feels ready.

* * *

  
  


John has always been slow. Sherlock should be used to it. It still annoys him. He has the need to talk, so he visits Molly in the lab. He could speak to Lestrade, but he is also friends with John and they meet each other at least once a week. Molly doesn’t have children, but she’s okay with Rosie and she is good at listening.

While she does an autopsy on a 57-year-old female, he tells her about the measurements of his belly over the last 26 days. Only slight changes, which is quite common in the first month.

She tells him he should inform John about the appointment he made for the first scan. He starts sulking. John should be the one to ask. He already has a child, he should know this is coming.

That night, Rosie and Sherlock are alone in the flat. Boys night out for John. Sherlock enjoys the time with the little one, they do experiments and read books and play pirates, but the thought that John could meet a woman is always in the back of his mind. He doesn’t want John to meet a woman. John is his family, not someone else’s.

“Lock?” Rosie looks up at him from the bed. She has already curled up under the duvet, plush bee clutched to her chest. He sits down on the bed again.

“Yes, my bumblebee?” She wraps her hand around his index finger, something she does a lot with him.

“Why do you not carry me anymore?”

Her ability to observe and the pregnancy hormones bring him close to tears. She sits up and hugs him. He hugs her back, pressing his lips to her head. She still smells a bit like she did when she was a baby and its addictive. He wonders what his baby will smell like.

“You know I love you.” She nods. “I love you and I want another baby to love. A baby that is mine and your Daddy’s. And that baby…” He takes her hands and gently puts it on his belly. She’s the first person to touch it.

“That baby is growing inside me now. I have to be careful, so it won’t get hurt.”

She moves her hand over Sherlock’s belly. “Is the baby in your belly?”

“Well, yes. Like you were in your mother’s belly. It needs to grow in there for nine months and then I will give birth.”

Rosie says nothing for a while, head cocked to the left. She has the same tendency as John to lick her lips repeatedly when she is thinking. Now her expression goes from concentrated to excited.

“The baby can sleep with me and daddy can sleep with you maybe. And Nana can make socks for the baby like she made for me.”

Mrs. Hudson is a substitute for a wonderful grandmother. Her socks look awful, the animal patterns she tries to do look like aliens, but Rosie likes them.

“I haven’t told your Nana about the baby yet. Can we keep it a secret a little longer, until the baby has grown in my belly for twelve weeks?”

“Not tell anyone?” Rosie lies back down.

“No one. We will plan a big surprise for Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and Molly, okay?”

Rosie nods furiously.

It feels good to have someone be as excited as he is for the baby.

* * *

  
  


A case brings Sherlock to Newcastle-upon-Tyne for sixteen days. What starts out as a favour for Mummy turns out to be a complicated case involving poison and a hateful great grandmother.

He stays at Mummy’s friend’s house. Lydia Summer’s younger brother had been found dead at only fifty-five.

Unfortunately, it takes Sherlock more two days to  get the police to cooperate with him and give him the chance to look at the body and do tests on different plants in the great grandmother’s garden.

There is a lot of time spend doing nothing and Sherlock is close to losing his mind. Usually, John is with him to keep him sane, but John is with Rosie, in London. He uses the time to do his first pregnancy check up and scan.

Seeing the foetus for the first time is worse than the positive pregnancy test. He starts crying in front of both the doctor and nurse. Luckily, he won’t ever have to go back to that surgery.

Little Watson-Holmes doesn’t have distinguished features yet. At only 9 weeks it has just gone from embryo to foetus. It’s beautiful. The heartbeat sounded more brilliant than any symphony ever composed.

John should have been here.

* * *

  
  


Rosie and Sherlock plan to tell Mrs. Hudson by hiding the picture from the scan between a few pictures John had printed out for her. They wanted to look at them on Christmas eve. Sherlock will be fifteen weeks by Christmas.

He must talk to John before then.

Tomorrow morning, he tells himself.

John comes into his room before his morning shower. Sherlock is already awake, but barely. Changing his sleep schedule in favour of the baby is harder than he would have expected. John sits down on his bed. He looks kind of adorable in his bathrobe and sleep ruffled hair. Sherlock always liked how John looks. The new hair though…

“Morning. Sorry for… just bursting in. I… wanted to… I mean, we haven’t…”

Sherlock sits up which isn’t a good idea. The morning sickness immediately hits him. He can’t wait for this to be over. Pregnancy is in his entirety a pleasant experience, not only because he can do measurements and experiments, but the nausea is unnecessary.

He jumps out of bed and runs to the bathroom.

With that, their chance to talk is gone. John doesn’t come to his room the next morning.

* * *

 

Sherlock tries to talk about it two days before Christmas, but John seems to be uncomfortable. Lestrade looks weird. Anderson makes a stupid remark. Sherlock concentrates on the murder then. Apparently, a crime scene is not a good place to talk about pregnancy.

Later that evening, Rosie is asleep on top of him, her head resting on Sherlock’s belly. When they are alone she talks about the baby a lot. Sherlock wonders if she talks to John about it too. He is quite impressed at how good she is at keeping it a secret from Mrs. Hudson and Molly and Gavin, especially because she usually talks a lot. Hiis small bump is almost unnoticeable. Sherlock had always had difficulties gaining weight and even now, his body hasn’t really changed. He’s grateful he can still hide it even with his tight shirts.

John sets a cup of tea on the living room table for him and leans against the desk with his own cup. For a while, they just look at each other. John’s expression goes from thoughtful to determined.

“I wanted to continue our conversation from earlier this week. The one where you left and puked out the entirety of your organs. I think you deduced what I want to say,  I hope you didn’t vomit because of that.” John giggles at his own joke, but its nervous laughter.

It makes Sherlock nervous too and he starts stroking Rosie’s hair to keep his hands busy.

“I wanted to ask you, if you wanted to... fuck, why is this so difficult. Will you go on a date with me?”

John Watson, even though he is the person Sherlock’s knows best, never stops surprising him. Never would he have expected John would want to go out and have fun with him in that way. John is not gay. Sherlock, for his part,  is very interested in a date with John, but not for the reasons John asked.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Try to date me because I’m pregnant with your child. We are a family, even if we are not dating.” Sherlock looks down at Rosie and just up at John in time to see his surprised and shocked facial expression. There’s that deep line on his forehead Sherlock loves so much. 

“What? Wait!” John almost drops his cup. “You’re pregnant? But we didn’t… do that for what… three months or something. I thought you’d given up on the idea.”

Sherlock huffs in frustration. People really are idiots. “Of course, I stopped inserting your semen into my womb after I found out I was pregnant. As a doctor you should know that…”

“You didn’t tell me you were pregnant.” John interrupts, hands in his own hair.

“I put the positive pregnancy test next to your laptop when I was three weeks.” Sherlock nods towards the desk. “It was gone the next day so I know you took it.”

John, apparently shocked, struggles to sit down in his armchair. “There was no pregnancy test. I didn’t see it or take it. Why didn’t you talk to me? I mean, you must have realized I wasn’t reacting in any way.”

Sherlock bites his lip. “I thought you weren’t comfortable enough to converse about this topic yet,” He admits. “We were never good at talking before.”

John smiles a sad smile at that. “Wow. I can’t believe we’re having a baby. I mean, I just went along with your crazy plan… I don’t even know why. Guess I can’t say no to you, somehow. And the thought of a child who is ours… you’re so good with Rosie and I… good, this is really happening.”

John gets up and fetches himself a glass and the whiskey bottle. He pours himself some but doesn’t drink it immediately. He just stares at Sherlock for a while, and his face grows softer.

“A baby. God damn, Sherlock. We’re having a baby.” He smiles now. Sherlock loves the lines on John’s face when he smiles.

“I have a picture from my first scan in my wallet, if you are interested.” Sherlock nods towards the Belstaff on the door. “Left pocket.”

Rosie stirs in her sleep and he resumes stroking her hair.

John gets up and takes the wallet form the coat pocket. “How far along are you?”

“Fourteen weeks and 5 days today.” Sherlock watches John’s face light up as he looks at the picture of their baby. “ Between the size of a lemon and an apple. I don’t like my child being compared to fruit, but Rosie had a hard time imagining how large 9 centimetres is.”

“Rosie knows?”

“I told her. Well, she observed I wasn’t picking her up anymore, so I told her. She’s clever. Very observant.”

John smiles at his daughter. “Guess you’ll be taking her on cases instead of me soon then.” He kneels on the carpet next to the sofa. His face is full of love for his daughter.

“Could I come with you to the next scan? I need to see this with my own eyes. Still can’t believe it.”

Neither can Sherlock.

 

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  


Sherlock knows how much John hates it when he wakes him up in the middle of the night, but this is important. He opens the door just enough for him to slip into the room. Both John and Rosie are asleep, breaths calm in the dark.

Sherlock steps next to John’s bed. He sits down and for a while just listens.

“John?” He shakes his shoulders. “John. John.”

John wakes with a gasp. “Jesus, Sherlock. I told you so many times you …” He interrupts himself. “Is there something wrong with the baby?”

“No, the baby is fine. I have a question.”

John sinks back into the bed, both relieved and annoyed. “Couldn’t you have waited until the morning? We just went to bed three hours ago.”

“You asked me to go on a date with you. Why, if you didn’t know I was pregnant, would you do this?”

John rubs at his eyes. Then he gets out of bed. “Let’s talk outside. The little one should sleep.” They walk outside and John sits on the topmost step. Sherlock switches on the light and sits next to him.

“I… “ John licks his lips repeatedly. “I wanted to ask you out before you left the syringe and stuff in the bathroom. Then I thought, you wouldn’t want to, because you would rather shove a syringe with my semen up your bum then have sex with me. On the other hand, you wanted a baby with me, so I’d call that mixed signals.” John smiles at that. “Then I thought, maybe you’re asexual and wanted to...be with me and just not have sex. So, I decided to just ask you.”

John picks at a little part of finger nail that sticks out and it’s annoying. Sherlock covers John’s hand with his to keep him from doing this.

“I learned a lot about myself through therapy. Not only how to deal with the anger and the loss of Mary, her betrayal, my cheating, but also…” He cleans his throat, still staring at their hands. “I learned to find words for those feelings I have for you and I just wanted to know if you might reciprocate them or if I should ... work on getting over you. Romantically I mean. I’ll never stop being your friend, your family.”

Sherlock stares at him and it feels a lot like the moment John asked him to be his best man all those years ago. He doesn’t understand how John can have romantic feelings for him. No one has ever felt that way. Sexual attraction, yes. A crush, maybe. Irene Adler. But never has a person loved him that way. Especially not a person as fantastic as John Hamish Watson.

He realizes he is staring again and blinks his eyes. “I… I didn’t know. I thought you wouldn’t want coitus with me and chose a method that would be the most comfortable for you. I didn’t expect…” Sherlock Holmes doesn’t usually stutter, but it’s hard to find words for a situation like this.

He lifts John’s hand to his mouth to kiss it. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

John’s smile is everything.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Christmas has changed ever since Rosie moved in. It’s delightful to watch her opening her presents and playing the violin for her. Suddenly, she jumps up from where she is playing with her new pirate doll. “Lock, Present for Nana.” She runs towards the mantle, where they have hidden the pictures, but she’s too small to reach.

Sherlock puts down his instrument and gets the envelope. Rosie reaches for it and then hands it to their landlady. Mrs. Hudson hugs her and starts looking at the pictures of their family, making comments like ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’.

“Oh, look. Rosie, that’s you when you were still in your Mummy’s tummy.”

“Nooo, Nana.” Rosie climbs on Mrs. Hudson’s lap and takes the scan picture from her. “That’s the baby in Sherlock’s belly.”

Mrs. Hudson covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh, dear lord. You are pregnant? Oh, Sherlock.” She starts crying and Sherlock goes and hugs her. “I didn’t even know you were finally together.”

“We aren’t. Well, we weren’t when Sherlock decided we should add another member to the family.” He hands their landlady a tissue.

“This is the best Christmas present I have ever received.”

 

* * *

  
  
  
  


They visit Sherlock’s parents for the new year. Mummy cries as well when they tell her. Human emotions are very complex, and Sherlock is glad (again) that he can blame his own tears on pregnancy hormones.

Rosie stays with her grandparents for three more days, while Sherlock and John go back to Baker Street.

“They are going to spoil her rotten, aren’t they?” John says, as they enter their flat.

“Of course. Mummy always wanted a grandchild she could do this to. It made her happy to hear one of her children decided to procreate.” Sherlock lays his hands on his stomach. He still doesn’t have a bump, not really, but it should make an appearance soon. He’s strangely looking forward to it.

“Should we maybe… have our date tonight? A fancy dinner or something?” John suggests, his eyes soft as he watches Sherlock caressing his belly.

“I should definitely eat today, so yes, dinner would be good.”

* * *

  
  


There is wine (only for John), pasta and a candle on the table. In many ways it’s similar to all the times they have eaten at Angelo’s before. But this time, John attempts to flirt. Good attempts, Sherlock has to admit, he is just horrible at flirting back. John still seems to enjoy it.

And they are holding hands. John’s skin is warm and a little sweaty and he has a scar on his thumb Sherlock has seen but never felt before. It’s a challenge to eat with only one hand, but Sherlock wouldn’t let go of John for the world.

It’s new and exciting, but it’s also familiar. It is everything Sherlock ever wanted.

He thinks about their first meal here. About the flirting, the missed opportunities. Of course, he does. The past doesn’t matter. Only the future does.

They share a dessert, which is very romantic. They walk back to the flat holding hands and it’s brilliant to have the world (or a small part of London) know he belongs with John Watson. He is part of John Watson’s family.

John follows him up the stairs. Just as Sherlock is about to enter the living room, John touches his shoulder and he turns around to look at his best friend.

“Tonight was fun. Would you like to repeat this soon?” John’s face is soft with something Sherlock can’t really identify.

“Yes, I would like that.”

“Good.” John’s hand finds its way to his nape and he is being pulled down into their first kiss. Soft, warm, slow, tender. Sherlock’s eyes fall shut against his will. John tastes of oregano and red wine and John and by the time John’s tongue touches his upper lip Sherlock is addicted.

He cups John’s face with his hands to pull him closer, deepen the kiss. He doesn’t want to stop, not even to breathe. Breathing has always been boring.

John pulls back at some point, but he stays close enough for Sherlock to feel his breath against his lips.

“Good night, love. I’ll see you in the morning.” John’s lips are back on Sherlock’s for a brief moment, then he turns around and walks up the stairs to his room.

“Wait.” Sherlock is confused. “You don’t want to have sex with me?”

John stops and turns to him, his smile bright. “I do. God, I do. But this is only our first date. We have no need to rush things.”

“But wouldn’t it convenient to take advantage of the empty flat?”

“I’ll make love to you when it feels right, not when it’s convenient, love. Good night.”

Sherlock Holmes loves John Watson.

* * *

  
  


Both John and Rosie are there for his second scan. They are sitting on a small plastic chair and John is holding Sherlock’s hand as they watch the blurry shape of little Watson-Holmes move on the screen.

“Baby is the size of avavocado.” Rosie blurts out, her face full of concentration. She asks about the baby at least five times a day.

Dr. Garcia grins, so do John and Sherlock. “A very healthy avocado indeed. The baby is within perfect parameters when it comes to size and weight. The movements look good. I’m very happy for you both.”

Sherlock can’t help but smile. Even though growing and gaining weight is nothing special for a human being, Sherlock is a proud parent.

“My pregnancy is not visible yet. Should I worry?”

“It’s quite common in carriers. Your bump will probably be visible at around twenty to twenty-two weeks. And you are quite thin, so I don’t expect a big belly until thirty-six weeks.” Doctor Garcia switches off the monitor.

“You can get dressed, Mr. Holmes. If there are any more questions, I’d be happy to help.”

“Not at the moment.” Sherlock gets up and buttons up his trousers.

He again, has tears in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

John is still asleep, his arm draped over Sherlock’s belly.

They had their fifth date yesterday. A tour to different crime scenes they had been to before. It was their idea of a romantic evening. And when they arrived home John had kissed him in the front room and the kitchen and Sherlock’s bedroom. John was a generous lover, both capable of tenderness and seduction, teasing and pleasing. 

Sherlock had fallen asleep afterwards feeling very pleased indeed.

Sherlock lets his eyes wander over the parts of John’s body that are not yet covered by the duvet. His strong arms and chest, both golden in the early morning light. His left nipple is hard as it is exposed to the cold of the room and Sherlock feels the need to suck it, taste John’s skin.

John’s neck is most prominent in Sherlock’s field of vision and Sherlock is fascinated by the tiny movements of it as his lover breathes. Sherlock presses his lips to the adam’s apple.

There is a fluttering in Sherlock’s belly. The first movements of his child happened a week ago at a crime scene and Sherlock already has a spreadsheet on when the little one is most active. Soon, John and Rosie will be able to feel it kicking.

Sherlock loves his child.

After last night, he wondered if they should have waited, if making love to create their child would have been a better way to expand their family. This is most probably his first and only pregnancy. The way it came to be is not very romantic.

Still, the baby might not be a product of making love, but it is a product of their love, and that is all that matters.

For a while, Sherlock just lies there and takes John in with all his senses. He never wants to forget a tiny detail of this moment, of his John.

He kisses John’s chin and slowly gets up. He picks up his clothes from the floor and throws them in the wash. Dressed in pyjamas and his favourite dressing gown, he walks up to Rosie’s room.

She is, as he expected, awake already and he climbs into John’s bed and cuddles her for a few minutes, until she decides she wants breakfast.

* * *

  
  


“Papa.” Sherlock says.

“Hmmm?” John looks up from his newspaper. He has to go off to work in fifteen minutes.

“I realized little Watson-Holmes won’t be calling me Sherlock, so I did some research on alternatives. I like Papa best.”

John’s face goes soft and Sherlock feels the need to get up to kiss him right now. “Papa and Daddy. Sounds good to me.” John tastes of earl grey and raspberry jam . His chin is rough with a little  stubble. Sherlock likes it.

“I thought maybe Rosie should start calling me Papa as well. I like Lock, but I don’t want to treat her differently because she is not my biological child. She’s as much mine as little Watson-Holmes is.”

He should find a shorter name to refer to the baby, but none of the alternatives fit as well.

“You gorgeous, brilliant man.” John smiles and kisses him. “This means so much. To me and especially to Rosie. She’s seen you as her parent for almost all her life.” He looks sad then. “I don’t think she will remember Mary. She will never know her mother.” John wraps his arms around Sherlock and pulls him onto his lap. “I’m so glad she has you.” 

Sherlock kisses him. He hadn’t realize this would be such a huge deal, but all those emotions on John’s face prove otherwise. 

“You know, Rosie was a big part of why I wanted to have that child with you. When you told me first I thought it was crazy. Two best friends don’t just have a child and raise it.” John kisses Sherlock’s chin. “And then I realized we are already raising a child together and even if I could never be with you, we still could be a family. Rosie could have a sibling.”

Sherlock’s lips follow the line of John’s brow and hair line. John started using his conditioner a few days ago and Sherlock likes his smell on John. It’s subconsciously telling people John belongs to him. 

“I know you well enough to know you really wanted this.” John rests his hand on Sherlock’s belly. “I wanted you to be happy.” 

They share a smile.

“I am so very happy.” 

* * *

 

John is already at work by the time Sherlock gets dressed to drop Rosie off at kindergarten. The little one is playing in the living room, Sherlock picks out the burgundy shirt and his favourite trousers. As he gets undressed, he walks past the mirror. That’s when he notices.

He has a bump. There is a small curve on his belly and he can’t stop touching it. Finally, he has visual proof he is pregnant, and he needs to tell John. Show John. Now.

Quickly, he gets dressed. The trousers barely close and Sherlock squeals in delight.

He combs his hair and brushes his teeth and then gets Rosie ready. They walk to the kindergarten every morning and Rosie tends to sing and today he joins in. Today he doesnt mind if people stare.

Rosie always takes a while before she can let Sherlock leave, holding on to his leg as he talks to her teacher.

When her best friend arrives, Rosie follows her into the playroom and Sherlock watches her for a minute before he goes.

The cab drops him off in front of the surgery and he walks to the front desk. “I need to talk to Dr. Watson.”

The receptionist smiles at him, but it’s the smile she fakes for every patient. “Dr. Watson has a patient right now. Why don’t you take a seat, Mr. Holmes?” She remembers him then.

Sherlock doesn’t want to sit. He remains standing, reacting as soon as the door to John’s office opens. He brushes past the old lady.

“Just a second, I’ll...” John looks up. “Oh, hello love.” He gets up.

“I need to show you something.” Sherlock accepts a kiss from John. His hands are shaking as he unbuttons his shirt and the suit trousers.

“You… you have a bump.” John says in awe and Sherlock needs to kiss him. John Watson is perfect.

 

* * *

  
  


Lestrade calls them to a crime scene, but they have no one to watch Rosie, so Sherlock goes alone. At twenty-five weeks, his bump is big enough to be noticed, but he can still hide it behind the Belstaff. He doesn’t want the yarders to know. This is about John and him and their family and neither Donavan nor Anderson have the right to make a nasty comment.

The urge to show off how perfect his life turned out to be, is less strong than the need to protect the people he loves. He figures that’s a good thing. 

A man has been murdered in the restroom of a noble restaurant. The floor is soaked in blood and so is the waitress who found the victim and slipped in the sticky substance. Donovan is still busy trying to calm the shocked woman.

Sherlock meets the head chef by the door, smoking and he walks past him faster than he usually would. He doesn’t want to bring his child in danger in any way.

Anderson is standing by the door to the loo and Sherlock holds back a comment. He takes in the scene. The pool of blood is only disturbed where the waitress fell into it. No footprints that point to a possible suspect.

“I need to see the body from up close.” Sherlock takes off his coat to not get it dirty. He hands it to Anderson, so the idiot has something useful to do.

“You can’t just walk in there.”

“Anderson. I am quite sure you have been able to take enough pictures of the scene already. I need to look at the actual body from more than five feet away.”

Sherlock is not squeamish, and he kneels into the blood to observe the victim. Male. In his fifties. Wealthy. Hard worker. Probably in a bank. Married for less than two years. Second marriage. Cut throat. No defence wounds. He bled out on the floor without anyone noticing.

“Boss. The freak decided to indulge in his fetish and cover himself in blood,” Anderson comments. Sherlock can live with comments about himself as long as Anderson is not going to say anything about little Watson-Holmes.

“Anderson. Your little contributions are unnecessary.” Lestrade replies as he steps into the restroom.

“Evening, Sherlock. Any theories yet?”

Sherlock slowly gets up, cupping his stomach and in the corner of his eyes he can see Anderson’s face turning into a grimace of surprise. “You’re pregnant.” He gasps.

“Very observant, Anderson. And as you know, I can multitask to the point where I can carry a child and solve a murder.” He walks past him, taking his coat.

“Arrest the chef. He killed a random guest to put a bad light onto the restaurant. He burned off his taste buds by smoking too much. Tomorrow would have been his last day.”

It’s almost too easy and Sherlock considers Lestrade for even bothering him with this. Even Anderson could have solved this eventually. He’s just grateful to be at a crime scene again. For a while, he was afraid Lestrade would refuse to contact him now that he is pregnant. The DI had just congratulated him on the baby and asked if he would now be twice as smart with another brain growing in his belly. A horrible joke, but John hand laughed. 

Sherlock, his trousers dripping with blood, drapes the Belstaff over his shoulders.

Anderson follows him to the door. “I… Congratulations to you and Dr. Watson.” He says and disappears into the building again.

* * *

  
  


John wants their family picture taken. It’s important to him because there is no photo of Rosie, Mary and him except for the christening. Sherlock is thirty weeks pregnant and his bump seems to be growing a little every day. By now John and Rosie spend every evening on the sofa feeling little Watson-Holmes kick. Sometimes Sherlock comes back from his mind palace to find Rosie resting her cheek against his belly and talking to her sibling.

Sherlock does research on photographers and decides on a young photography student he found on Instagram. She has worked with children before and he likes the way she sees the world.

Kirsten comes to Baker Street on a Saturday morning. Rosie instantly likes her and shows off her stuffed animals. Little Watson looks adorable in her mint green dress. Sherlock wears a shirt in the same tone that emphasizes the bump and John chose his dark green trousers to match them.

John and Sherlock sit in their chairs, which are moved closer together. Rosie sometimes stands between them or sits on John’s lap. Sherlock spend the day before arranging the mantle in a perfect chaos. The skull is prominent in the background and so is a picture of Mary. She is part of this family, whether Sherlock likes it or not.

Mrs. Hudson joins them, and Sherlock let’s her sit in his armchair. For the photos with her he stands in the middle of the picture, facing John and cupping his bump. Rosie jumps up to hug him and it’s Sherlock’s favourite picture in the end.

* * *

  
  


Sherlock decides he wants to do birthing classes.  Mycroft gets an expert to come to Baker Street and they do breathing exercises and other dull routines on the living room floor. It’s better than dealing with other pregnant people. Sherlock is annoyed with himself often enough lately. Not only with his body, the swollen feet and back pain, but also with how emotionally unstable he is.

He fights with John, John who is patient and loving, who massages his feet in the evenings. He provokes conflicts, because he wants to yell and shout. On other days he’s mopey and wants to be cuddled all day. Rosie is an excellent cuddle partner and Sherlock even picked her up from kindergarten after only an hour because he needed to hold her.

Some nights, he’s insatiable and wants all of John’s attention. Those nights, Rosie stays with Mrs. Hudson and John makes love to him for hours.

No, he really doesn’t need other people with confused hormones. John supports him, holds him, convinces him to go on when Sherlock is annoyed and wants to leave. Or shoot the wall.

Sherlock is scared of the birth. He would be stupid not to be. A big thing will be pressed through a tiny hole after hours of contractions. The thought that John will be there is calming, but he probably will insult him throughout the birth, curse him for getting him pregnant. Sherlock is afraid to lose his rationality, even for a limited period of time. Going into his mind palace might be a good idea during the contraction, but he needs to be present for birthing process itself.

When the teacher, he always forgets her name, leaves that day, John just hugs him. He seems to always know the right thing to do when it comes to Sherlock and his emotions. “You’re doing amazing, love. Brilliant, really.” John’s hand is soft on top of his belly. Little Watson-Holmes seems to agree, kicking Sherlock right where the doctor’s palm rests.

“I love you, you know. Anything you need, just ask.” John kisses his chin.

Love.

They both feel it. Neither of them has ever said it out loud.

Sherlock wraps his arms around John and presses his forehead to John.

“I love you.” He says.

John kisses him and it’s tender. Sherlock tries to pour all the love into the touch of lips and tongues.

Sherlock loves his bump. Opposite from the self-consciousness he had expected, he is proud of the way his body swells to make room for his child. In moments like this he gets a little annoyed with it though, because he can’t really hug John the way he wants, he can’t press himself against the man he loves all the way. 

John knows, of course. John is clever. He leads Sherlock the bedroom and as Sherlock lies on his side, he wraps himself around his back. Being held like this makes Sherlock feel safe. And with all the doubts, the fear he has about the birth, safety is what he needs. John is what he needs.

* * *

 

“I want you to choose the name.” Sherlock says and John, who had until this point looked out of the cab window, turns to face him.

“Hmmm?”

“Eloquent as always.” Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

John smiles and leans in to kiss Sherlock’s cheek. “Sorry, love. I know you hate repeating yourself.” He licks his lips. “So, why do you want me to choose.”

Sherlock just loves him a little more just then.

“When Rosie was born, Mary decided on the name and didn’t include you.” Sherlock can’t help but sound accusing. As much as he had liked Mary, had appreciated her humour and intelligence, she had never treated John as an equal. Sherlock wants to do his best to be different.

For a moment, John looks sad and Sherlock takes his hand to place it on his belly. Feeling little Watson-Holmes always makes John feel better.

“She never mentioned Rosamund, you know. We talked about names a lot, as you do as expecting parents and we had agreed on Katherine or Emma and then she just decided on Rosamund.” 

Sherlock remembers the moment, remembers the surprise and hurt on his best friend’s face. He never wants John to feel he doesn’t have a part in this pregnancy.

“Katherine was my grandmother’s name. She died when I was ten. I adored her.” John moves his hand on the bump. Maybe this conversation is too important to have in a cab on the way to a client. The cabbie is good at pretending not to be listening in.

“I …” John looks at the bump and then back to Sherlock’s face. “I appreciate the offer, but I think we should decide this together. I mean we already agreed on keeping the sex of our little one a surprise.”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

The cab stops at their destination and John pays the cabbie. For a while, they say nothing as they walk up to the house.

“It is a tradition in my family to give children horrible names. I mean, who names their child William?” 

The grin on John’s face is what Sherlock aimed at and he stops to really look at his boyfriend. 

“I have such a great part in this pregnancy and I can’t include you is some things. I can’t let you feel what it feels like to have a child growing inside you, kicking and moving. I can’t explain what it means to bring the child into this world. What I can do is allow you to choose the name our baby will bear for the rest of his or her life.”

John kisses him then, in the driveway of their client’s house and when he pulls back, there are tears in the corners of his eyes. Sherlock pulls him close.

“But you get a veto, okay?” John rests his forehead against Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I can agree on those terms.”

* * *

 

Sherlock asked Mycroft to go shopping with him. They have already gotten rid of John’s bed and are now looking for new furniture for Rosie and the baby. His older brother, though tedious and annoying, has a good taste and when Sherlock was younger they always went to the tailor together, Sherlock’s favourite memories with Mycroft.

John likes the idea, Sherlock knows. He is still convinced Mycroft loves Sherlock and that they should spend time together. And, as is obvious by the state of  his clothes, he hates shopping.

Rosie has requested a wallpaper with bees but doesn’t want to spend time in the furniture shop. When he asks her, she tells him its dull and he is a little proud.

Mycroft picks him up and they take turns deducing the people passing by their car for a while. Sherlock has gotten better at understanding human emotions and wins almost every time. It’s the most pleasant time he has spend with his brother in a long time.

They decide on a cherry wood floor, cream furniture and a light green paint. Sherlock calls his father and asks him if he wants to paint the bees and father agrees, promising to come over on the weekend. Mummy is excited to come too and help with decorations.

For now, Rosie will share her room with her sibling, but the upstairs room is big enough for them to later built a dividing wall.

After an hour of looking, Sherlock has to sit down. His feet are swollen and his lower back hurts. For a while, Mycroft and he sit in an uncomfortable silence. Usually, they talk about cases or more often fight about something.

“I never imagined we would ever be in this situation and that is not due to my admitted lack of imagination.” Mycroft looks at him and something that almost resembles a smile crosses his face. “When Mummy told me you had been to the doctor and found out you were able to bear children, I was convinced you would never want that. I still was until recently.”

Sherlock leans back in the rocking chair, looking at the ceiling. “I always liked children. They see the world differently. They are unbiased and honest. It almost makes up for how annoying they can be.” He chuckles, thinking of Rosie’s occasional temper tantrums. “When I met John, I imagined being with him and I thought if he wanted children I could maybe be persuaded. I never thought I would feel the urge to be a parent.”

Mycroft nods. “I am proud of you, brother dear.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “Stop talking and help me up.” 

* * *

  
  


Mummy and father arrive on Friday. By then, the walls have been painted and the floor changed. Rosie is upstairs with father to tell him exactly were she wants the bees and Lestrade came over to help John assemble the cot. Five more weeks until the baby is due. Time flew by the last view months and the 19th of June is coming closer and closer.

“There you go, raspberry leaf tea. Helped me through all my pregnancies.” Mummy sits down in John’s armchair. He takes the cup from her and takes a sip. His mother watches him for a while and he turns away to look at the skull on the mantle.

“When I met your father, I thought it could never work out between us. However, he was less intelligent than me, a grammar school teacher and he was lovable and caring and creative,  I was all about the work though. I didn’t want a man to force me into having a family . All the men I had dated prior to your father had tried to change me. Your father just loved me.” Mummy smiles. “I see the same thing when John looks at you.”

Sherlock smiles into his cup. “We are both very lucky, indeed.”

Mummy nods. “Undeservedly so, I sometimes think.” She picks up one of John’s medical journals and skims through it.

“I don’t know if I’m ready, Mummy.” Sherlock blurts out, before he can stop himself. The thought had been racing through his mind for the past week.

Mummy closes the journal and leans forward in her chair a little bit. “No one ever is, I think. A child is such a huge change, but you learn to deal with the responsibility step by step. There are good days and bad days.” She shrugs her shoulders. “And you and John managed to deal with that Moriarty boy. Raising your child will be nothing compared to that.”

Sherlock chuckles. 

“I don’t know if stepping off a roof is a good way to deal with my problems.”

Mummy reaches for his hand. 

“And I don’t know if I’m the best person to give you advice when it comes to children, not after what happened with Eurus.” 

The pain on her face is fresh. She has recently visited her daughter at Sherrinford again. She still blames herself.

Rosie’s footsteps on the stairs make them both look up. 

“Papa, Grandma, you need to come. Grandpa  painted a bee. Come, look.” She takes Sherlock’s hands and tries to pull him to his feet. 

“How about you run up there again and we’ll be there as fast as we can.” Mummy ruffles her blond curls and Rosie is gone a moment later.

Sherlock gets up slower than he would have liked. Little Watson-Holmes seems to like bees and starts kicking Sherlock’s bladder. “Thank you so much for your help,” he mutters, but he is smiling.

Mummy is waiting for him by the door. “She loves the bees and her first instinct was to show them to her Papa. That’s how I know you can do this. You already are a parent and a good one at that.”

Sherlock hugs her. “Thank you, Mummy.” He whispers.

Then they make it up the stairs to look at the bees.

* * *

  
  


Sherlock sits in his rocking chair. Mycroft has bought it for him and surprised him with it when he came home after a case.

Rosie is curled up beside him, listening as he reads her bedtime story. She loves the voices he does and insist he read to her every night. 

Suddenly, there is a gush of fluid and sherlock, in his surprise, tries to hold back a gasp. He knows what’s happening. He hasn’t expected this yet. 

“Rosamund.” She lifts her head to look at him. He rarely uses her full name and it usually means trouble. “Go downstairs and tell Daddy Papa’s water just broke.”

Rosie jumps to her feet, tiredness gone in an instant. “Does it mean the baby is coming?”

“Yes, it does.”

Rosie smiles and pets the belly. “Finally, you are coming out.”

With that, she hurries downstairs and two minutes later, John is next to him. Rosie, suddenly shy, waits by the door.

“You sure?” John kneels beside him.

“Yes. I had three contractions over the last two hours, but I was convinced they were Braxton-Hicks. My water broke just now. It was far less dramatic than I had expected.”

Sherlock reaches for John’s hand and his boyfriend helps him up.

“I’ll help you to the living room and call Molly. Mycroft offered to send a car when we need it.” John says, and Sherlock realizes that this is it, he is having a baby.

Stairs. Never before has he hated anything more than stairways during his pregnancies.

“I want to change before we go to the hospital. And I need to call the midwife.” John nods and Sherlock makes his way into their bedroom. His contractions will start soon, and he will most likely give birth within the next twenty-four hours.

When he comes back to the living room, he sits down in his armchair.

“Rosie. Can you come here, love?” He reaches out for her and she climbs onto his lap. “You don’t have to be scared, you know. Daddy and I will go to the hospital and the doctors will help me and your sibling. And then, you can come visit us and meet your brother or sister.”

Rosie nods and her hand wanders over the bump. “You said it will hurt. I don’t want you to hurt, Papa.”

Sherlock smiles at her. She is a good person and he doesn’t know how John and he managed that. “You are very dear to me, Rosie.” He whispers into her hair. “You will have a wonderful stay at Molly’s and I will call you as soon as the baby is here. Promise.” 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a huge thanks to Amelia and Emmi :D

Tristan Scott Watson-Holmes is born on the 17th of June at 10:43 am after fourteen hours of labour. He is pink, chubby and perfect and Sherlock is completely overwhelmed by the love he feels for his son. John is, through this as he was through the birth, his rock and the only thing that keeps Sherlock sane.

Tristan is placed on his chest and with shaking fingers, Sherlock touches his tiny nose and fingers and John cries as he announces the name of their little wonder for the first time. It’s a perfect choice and Sherlock doesn’t even use his veto on the second name.

Sherlock feels empty and sore and starts crying when they take his baby away for test and measurements. Tristan is crying too and it both warms and breaks his heart. His son shouldn’t have a reason to cry, not ever. He knows it’s unrealistic, but he just gave birth, so there’s that.

“You did amazing, love. Just brilliant. Thank you.” John kisses his sweaty forehead and Sherlock turns his head to look at him. John’s words never cease to move him, not even after so many years. “Thank you, for giving us a perfect son.”

Sherlock pouts his lips, wanting a kiss and John doesn’t disappoint. “I love you.” Sherlock whispers and they turn to watch their child being weighed.

“I need to apologize for the things I said during labour.” Sherlock presses his lips to John’s wrist.

“Oh, never mind. It was quite funny, to be honest. You told me to keep my gorgeous cock away from your arse, which is kind of ironic if you consider how Tristan was conceived.”

Sherlock chuckles, and then starts crying again and only when he is allowed to hold his baby again does he stop.

“The things you do to me at only ten minutes old.” Sherlock murmurs, lips ghosting over Tristan’s head. “You already turn my world upside down.”

 

* * *

  


Tristan is a genius. At only thirty-four minutes old he manages to nurse like a champion, making both his fathers proud as can be. The fingers of his left hand are digging into Sherlock’s chest and the detective marvels at the tiny fingernails.

“He smells … so good.” Sherlock would look at John, but he can’t take his eyes off their son. He is the most perfect combination of their DNA possible.

“The great Sherlock Holmes is struggling for words.” John teases, hands never straying far from  Sherlock’s shoulder or arm. “You’re right. He is brilliant.” John leans down to kiss Tristan’s temple, softly rubbing his nose along the baby’s hairline. “I thought I couldn’t love anyone as much as I love Rosie and here he is.”

There are tears in Sherlock’s eyes again. He nudges at John’s cheek with his nose to get a kiss of his own and he gets lost in the feeling for a while. “Agreeing to your crazy plans was the best thing I could possibly do.” John’s voice is deep with emotions and Sherlock has to kiss him again.

Tristan let’s Sherlock’s nipple slip from his mouth and Sherlock grabs the corner of the yellow blanket he is wrapped in to clean a spot of milk from his chin.

“Now, my love, Daddy is going to burp you, while I call your big sister. She really wants to meet you.” He kisses the baby and John carefully lifts Tristan up and places him against his shoulder. Sherlock watches for a while as John tenderly pets their son’s back, murmuring adorations into his tiny ear. The love of his life looks tired, dark circles under his eyes and his hair a mess, but Sherlock has seldom seen him this happy.

John, of course, has done this before. He has held Rosie when she was only a few minutes old, has changed her first diaper with the help of a nurse. Sherlock envys Mary for having been able to give this to John before he could. But then, he has the priviledge to raise Rosie and Mary is dead, so all is forgiven.

Molly takes a while before she picks up the phone.

“Molly. You know why I am calling, but I want to tell my daughter first.”

“Congratulations to both of you.” Molly says, and Sherlock hears her steps before she calls for Rosie.

A moment later, he hears Rosie’s voice.

“Papa”

“Hello, darling. I’m calling to tell you that you have a little brother. His name is Tristan.”

“Tristan.” The name sounds even more perfect from her mouth. “Can I come and see him?”

“Of course. I thought maybe you could bring Molly and Nana, too.”

“Yes. We come right now. Love you, Papa. And Daddy and Tristan.”

“I’ll tell them. See you soon, Rosie.”

He ends the call, staring at his phone for a while, without really seeing it. He is exhausted and all he wants is sleep, but he also needs his  family here right now. They aren’t complete without Rosie.

“Everything okay, love?” John has taken a seat in the chair by the window. Tristan is asleep in his arms.

“It’s just a lot to handle. I’ve never been happier though.”

A nurse comes in to check in on them and when she finally leaves Sherlock calls his parents and texts both Mycroft and Harry (even with all that happened between her and John, she still deserves to know she is an auntie again).

He takes a picture of John and Tristan sleeping as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and somehow it is and then he closes his eyes and feels his belly, all weird and floppy now. His beautiful bump is gone, and he has an even more beautiful son.

 

Sherlock must have fallen asleep, because he wakes up when there is a soft knock on the door. When she sees him, Rosie runs and climbs onto the bed to hug him. Even in her excitement she is careful with him and he buries his nose in her hair. “My brilliant, beautiful Rosie. I missed you.” He wraps his arms around her and Mrs. Hudson breaks into tears.

“Oh, my boys. Congratulations. Where is the little one?”

“Here he is.” John’s voice is calm and still a little slurry from sleep. He holds Tristan with one arm and supports himself with the other to get up. “May I introduce to you Tristan Scott Watson-Holmes.”

“I want to see him, Daddy.” Rosie sits up, waving her arms at John.

“You can hold him as well. Here, sit with me.” Sherlock shows her how she should hold her arms and John carefully transfers her little brother to her. Sherlock supports the baby’s head while Rosie looks at Tristan in absolute awe.

“He’s so tiny.” She touches his hand and suddenly, she starts to cry. “He’s so beautiful.”

Sherlock holds her closer, brushing his fingers through her hair. “You have a beautiful hair, Rosamund Watson.” He whispers, and she smiles up at him.

 

* * *

 

Tristan comes home after three days in the hospital. Rosie, already proving to be the perfect big sister, has covered the whole wall over his cot with drawings of their family. She has also cleaned up her room for her brother’s arrival.

The stairs to the flat are hard on Sherlock. He tore during the birth and walking is still uncomfortable. He needs to wait for John to bring Tristan to Mrs. Hudson and help him up to 221B, where Sherlock sits down in his armchair. It’s good to be home and he takes a moment to take in the smells, sounds and wonderful chaos.

John carries Tristan up and places him in Sherlock’s arms. “Here you are, my favourite boys in the world.” John smirks and kisses his favourite boys one after the other. “I’m going to pick up the lady of the house at Molly’s. And I’ll pick up some food. Any cravings?”

“I’m not pregnant anymore, John.” He kisses Tristan’s nose. “But Chicken Masala would be great.”

John grins. “Chicken Masala for my boys. See you in about an hour.”

When John is gone, Sherlock nurses Tristan and then places him in the bedside cot they decided to buy for the first few weeks. He rolls it to the living room and starts playing the lullaby he had composed for Rosie. Not for a second does he look away from his son’s sleeping face.

There is a soft knock on the door and Sherlock plays one last tone before setting down his instrument. He knows it can’t be John, he wouldn’t knock, so he walks over and opens the door. Gavin Lestrade is carrying a huge hamper and an even bigger smile and Sherlock signs him to come in. The DI had visited them in the hospital and had already given them a gift, a lovely jumper covered in bees, so Sherlock was a little surprised.

“How’s Holmes junior?” Lestrade puts down the hamper on the living room table and walks over to the cot.

“Sleeping again. I don’t understand how he is not bored out of his mind.” Sherlock realizes it would be polite to offer his guest some tea. “The kettle is in the kitchen.” He says and sits down again.

“Oh, yes. Ta.” The DI sets on making tea. “The present is from everyone on NSY. Anderson collected some money and asked me to choose some things for you.”

“Anderson? Why would he do that?”

Graham places a cup of peppermint tea on the armrest of Sherlock’s chair and walks over to look at Tristan again. “I don’t know. Peace offering maybe.”

“At least he was clever enough to not come over himself.” Sherlock drinks his tea and for a while no one says a word.

“I really need a shower. Could you watch Tristan for a while? I’ll be quick.”

“Sure. It’s lovely, seeing a baby, you know. My youngest is thirteen now. I miss those days, when they were still cute.” He chuckles, but it has a sad undertone. Greg doesn’t see his children often. His ex-wife moved away to Devon five years ago. As a DI, Lestrade works too much to go visit them often. It’s hard on him and Sherlock now understands why. It’s hard to even leave Tristan for fifteen minutes and take a shower. He’s afraid he will miss one of those adorable grimaces little Watson-Holmes can twist his mouth into.

“Molly wants to have children. You should finally ask her out.”

Gavin stares at him. “Molly Hooper?”

“Of course, Molly Hooper. You have been staring at her breasts at every Christmas gathering. And she will say yes, if you ask her out.” Sherlock gets up.

“I’ll be quick.”

With that, he steps into the bathroom.

* * *

  


When Tristan is three weeks old, John gets a call. Harry is in hospital and Clara sounds very worried. Sherlock knows it’s hard on John and tells him to just drive up to Birmingham and see her. It would make John feel better. On Monday morning, John packs a small back and takes off. Sherlock watches his boyfriend walk along Baker Street and up to his car. He stays at the window until he hears Tristan coo in his cot.

It’s Sherlock’s first time alone with both children and it’s hard. Tristan cries for hours on end and Rosie gets angry at him because he doesn’t play with her. He burns their lunch, again, and when he orders in, the delivery is twenty minutes late and their food cold.

While Rosie watches TV, which she usually isn’t allowed on a weekday, Sherlock tries to get Tristan to sleep. The little boy had quickly settled into a routine in his first days in Baker Street, but now refused to close his eyes, even as he is obviously very tired. Sherlock tries humming, singing and rocking him, but it takes over an hour until Tristan finally settles down.

Rosie then refuses to brush her teeth and Sherlock feels the need to shoot the wall. He reads two stories to her and remains in his rocking chair long after she has fallen asleep.

When he finally collapses into bed, he is close to tears. He feels like a failure for not being able to handle his kids on his own. Sherlock thinks about calling John, but he doesn’t want to disturb him while he spends time with his sister.

Sherlock pours himself a bath to try and calm down. The lavender bath bomb helps, and Sherlock goes to bed.

He is not, as is usual, woken by Tristan wanting to nurse, but his phone. He picks up, not checking the name of the caller.

John is in tears. “Harry passed away.”

For over half an hour, they cry together. Sherlock can’t find words to try and comfort John and when they hang up, John sounds so exhausted and devastated it breaks Sherlock’s heart. Harry had drunk herself to death ten years earlier than Sherlock had calculated. Alcohol had been the basis for all the fights the siblings had ever had, and the relationship had worsened over the last few years. Still, she had been John’s sister and his only family.

He needs to see John. For once, Sherlock has to be the rock for John to lean on. He has to bite back his recent self-pity and support his boyfriend.

Sherlock books train tickets. He packs a back for Rosie and Tristan.

When around seven the two wake up he gets them ready for the trip. He doesn’t tell John.

Mycroft sends a car to take them to Euston and they find four empty seats. Sherlock settles them in and Rosie snacks on grapes while she watches the landscape and comments on every cow or sheep she sees. Tristan makes faces at Sherlock and an older woman stops when she sees him to tell Sherlock how cute his baby is. Sherlock already knows that and makes a few deductions until she finally walks away.

Sherlock nurses Tristan on the train, his first time to ever do that in public, but the young man across from them is to engrossed in his phone to notice.

He and Rosie colour in some mandalas while Tristan sleeps and after two house they finally arrive. Sherlock ushers Rosie into a bus and they soon arrive at Clara’s house, where John is staying. Even though they  divorced, Clara had never stopped looking after Harry and until recently they had even lived together.

Sherlock knocks at the door and a few moments later John opens the door. His eyes are puffy with tears and it’s obvious he hasn’t’ slept all night. Sherlock just wraps his arms around him, Tristan strapped into a carrier against the detective’s chest.

“Thank god you’re here.” John murmurs.

Sherlock still doesn’t have words to comfort him, but now he can at least hold him.

* * *

 

 

Sherlock’s new favourite thing, he prefers it to murder and chemical reactions, is to rest Tristan on his thighs and make faces at him. Tristan’s reactions are brilliant. He is an intelligent baby that they knew immediately when he was born.

Sherlock has a spreadsheet on all the little things his son is capable of at only two months old, so when Tristan is out there changing the world with his genius ideas, his biographer has all the details.

They are mostly alone on the weekdays now, when Rosie is in kindergarten. John has gone back to the surgery, but he is only doing a 25-hour week and Sherlock often picks up Rosie and then all off them go see John in his office. The kids are very popular with the nurses and Rosie doesn’t usually want to leave until she’s told everyone about the amazing things she has done today already.

It should be boring, this routine, but Sherlock is utterly fascinated with his children and while Tristan sleeps, he is still able to solve cases via email or facetime. Lestrade was hesitant to call him at first but changed his mind when he got stuck on an apparent murder-suicide. So, Sherlock consults from the sofa or, on rare occasions, drops off Tristan with Mrs. Hudson for an hour and takes a quick look at the crime scene.

Sherlock still gets bored, of course, but it’s easier to cope with it now. And he still hates shopping, but they are close to running out of nappies and Sherlock doesn’t have a choice. He changes Tristan and straps him to his chest. It’s a uncommonly hot day in the middle of August and Sherlock puts a hat on his son's head. It’s adorable, with little sharks on which are very obviously not anatomically correct, but very fitting for a child.

He picks up nappies and sunscreen for kids and when he waits in line, an elderly woman starts cooing at Tristan. Sherlock starts deducing her (he has learned to not do that out loud all the time anymore) to be able to bear it. Tristan is obviously as bored as Sherlock is, but is polite enough to smile. That part of him is all John.

“Aren’t you a perfect little boy. Your Mummy must be so proud to have to such good man in her life.” The woman smiles up at Sherlock, reaching her chubby fingers out to touch the baby.

“Of course, he is perfect. I spend fourteen hours giving birth to him.” Sherlock turns slightly, so she can’t reach Tristan anymore.

The woman’s jaw drops in surprise, revealing the most crooked teeth Sherlock has ever encountered. “Oh. I’m sorry for assuming. Give my best wishes to your other daddy then, cutie.” With that, she walks away.

“Ha. Curious.” Sherlock shakes his head and steps forward to pay.

He still has half an hour before he needs to pick up Rosie and decides he wants ice cream. He gets himself two scoops of salted caramel, sitting down on one of the small tables in front of the ice cream parlour. Tristan is slowly falling asleep and Sherlock quietly hums Vivaldi’s four seasons to him while he eats his ice cream.

“Sherlock bloody Holmes.” Sherlock would know the voice out of thousands, he hates it so. Sebastian Wilkes, obviously on his lunch break, stops in front of the table and Sherlock is glad he put his sunglasses on, because he now looks incredibly cool.

“Sebastian.” He nods at his former fellow student.

“How’s the great detective? I’m a little surprised. If I were that colleague of yours, I wouldn’t trust you with my baby. It’s his, isn’t it” Wilkes is obviously trying to make himself feel better by trying to put someone down. During his time at University, Sherlock had  tried to be Sebastian’s friend, the feeling of disappointment still present when he had met him again to solve the case of the blind banker. No, he almost feels sympathy.

“He is John’s son indeed.” Sherlock cleans his hands off with a tissue. “But if you were only slightly observant, you could see he also has facial structures which are obviously mine.” Sherlock gets up, looking Sebastian up and down. “If I were you, I would stop worrying about other people’s lives and finally admit to your wife you have lost lots of money. And yes, she is cheating on you. Excuse me, I have to pick up my daughter. Good day.”

As he walks away, he chuckles to himself.

* * *

  
  


“Sherlock?” John sounds annoyed when he comes home from work and Sherlock looks up from his microscope. Tristan, who had previously discovered crawling to be a perfectly appropriate way of transport until he can figure out walking, drops his plan of climbing onto John’s armchair and hurries towards his daddy.

“Why the hell is there an ashtray on the table? We agreed, no smoking in the house and you are still nursing Tris.”

That’s Rosie’s queue. She steps out from the bathroom, where she had been hiding.

“It’s the ashtray from Buckingham Palace.” Sherlock looks at John innocently, as his boyfriend kneels down to pick their son up.

“And why is it on the living room table?” John kisses Tristan’s temple, but is looking at Sherlock still.

“You see, but you don’t observe.” Sherlock states, getting up and standing by his armchair. His comment makes John look closer.

“There’s… is that… a ring?” John mutters and just then, Rosie steps next to Sherlock, only the top of her head visible behind the bouquet of red roses.

“Very good, John.” Sherlock drops down to one knee. Mrs. Hudson said it was common to have flowers and rings and men kneeling down when you were to propose, so he had planned this for a while. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

John turns around to look at him and his jaw drops. “Are you… is this…?”

“I know you are shite at proposing, so I decided I could do it just as well.” Sherlock smirks, but turns serious. “I love you, John. I told you everything you mean to me in my best man’s speech and Tristan is already getting impatient, so I am just going to ask you. Will you be my husband?”

Rosie runs towards John with the flowers and John struggles to hold both a wiggling Tristan and the bouquet, and he is smiling like a mad man. “Oh god, yes.” He says, and it sounds desperate.

Sherlock gets up on wobbly knees. He takes the ring from the ashtray. His lips find John’s in a soft, loving kiss and for a while they lean their foreheads together. Tristan reached out for Sherlock and he took him from John and they somehow managed to put the ring onto John’s finger, a team effort.

“There is a table waiting for the four of us waiting at Angelo’s. I even insisted on a candle. Or ten.”

John kisses him again then, and Sherlock couldn’t be happier.

* * *

 

It’s a day after Christmas and Sherlock picks up some food on his way home from a crime scene. On a weird instinct, he also purchases a pregnancy test.

They weren’t planning on another child. Tris isn’t even seven months old and Sherlock’s cycle wasn’t back to normal yet. They hadn’t even had a lot of sex since the birth, because Sherlock had felt insecure about his postpartum body. Still, he had a strange gut feeling he might be pregnant.

First, he plans to just take the test while John is asleep and just present him with the stark facts should it be positive. It’s what he has done with his first pregnancy. But then he waits for John to come back downstairs after putting the little one’s to bed. He asks him to come to the bathroom and John widens, when he sees the test on the sink.

“I haven’t urinated on it yet. I thought you should be a part of this, even if it’s unlikely.” Sherlock looks at his finance.

“I didn’t know you had suspicions.” John sits down on the bathtub, taking Sherlock’s hand in his. “Do you think it happened when the kids were with your parents over Christmas?”

Sherlock opens the package. “I didn’t have suspicions until I walked past the pregnancy test in the store. It’s very unrealistic. We only had penetrative sex twice recently and we are both relatively old. We’ll just take the test to be sure.”

Two minutes feel like a small eternity and Sherlock can’t bear to look, so he shoves the test into John’s hand. He buries his head in his palms, arms resting on his knees..

John gets up from the rim of the bathtub and kneels on the floor in front of Sherlock, his hands resting on the detective’s knees. An attempt to comfort him, Sherlock realizes. It’s negative then.

“Love.” John’s voice is soft, and he lifts Sherlock’s chin up with a light touch of his finger. “Look at me. We’re having another baby. Two lines.”

Sherlock’s eyes snap open. There is a very light pink line, barely visible, but it’s there. He looks at John and they both break into tears simultaneously.

* * *

  
  


With the good news comes a problem. The layout of 221B Baker Street, manageable with two children, is less than practical with three. Sherlock had asked Mrs. Hudson about the basement flat before Tristan was even born, but the rooms are too far away to allow a real family life, especially while the kids are so little.

Both John and he are tossing and turning at night to figure this out. As much as they hate it, they will have to move. They look at houses in the suburbs, but nothing spikes their interest.

Then John only barely escapes being shot by a suspect and Sherlock decides it is time to retire from active case solving for the sake of his family.

They are lazily snogging on the sofa when Sherlock suggests Sussex. Even as a child, he had always planned to retire there as his grandmother had done. It would be a good place to raise their children, mostly free of crime.

“I will go anywhere with you, as long as it makes you happy.” John says, and with that it's decided.

On coincidence, Mrs. Turner’s friend is selling her cottage in Sussex and when they go there, all of them fall in love. The house has four bedrooms and a huge garden where Sherlock can keep bees and maybe chickens. The primary school is only a ten-minute walk away and John could possibly get a job in the local surgery.

It’s a huge step. Both of them have lived half their lives in London, it’s home. It’s where they met and fell in love, it’s where their children were born, but seeing Rosie run through the garden with Tristan wobbling behind her, John and Sherlock know it’s where their children should grow up.

Telling Mrs. Hudson they are moving out is hard, but they decide they need to do it soon, before it is time for Rosie  to attend primary school. John doesn’t want her to have to change schools in the middle of the year.

John applies with the surgery and luckily, the owner is a fan of the blog and hires him immediately, even though they don’t have a free spot.

A day later, they sign the contract and the cottage is theirs.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock is quite comfortable on the sofa, his one-year-old son sleeping on his chest just above his seven-month bump. How many nights has he spend on this sofa, alone, with John, the kids. It’s always been one of his favourite parts of the flat. Now, it’s the only piece of furniture left in the living room. Their armchairs have already been brought to their new home and so is most of their other stuff. John is just now packing Rosie’s and Tristan’s clothes and disassembling the cot.

For the last week they had slept on only their mattresses and John had driven back and forth between Baker Street and the cottage. Sherlock can’t really help. His second pregnancy is hard on him and he feels fatigue all the time. Dr. Garcia has ordered him to keep it down not to risk the baby and so he spend most of his time taking care of the children while John and Greg managed the move.  

The sight of empty 221B makes Sherlock’s sad. All the important parts of his life had happened here, starting with the day John became his flatmate. He had shot the wall and stabbed a knife into the mantel over the fireplace so many times. John had made love to him in almost every room, except for the kids’ room of course. Their family has laughed, fought and watched crap telly here. Home. And now they were starting another chapter.

John comes down the stairs carrying pieces of the cot. “Two more boxes and we’re off.” He calls. Rosie is right behind him with a small bag. She insisted on helping, seeing moving to a new house as a huge adventure.

Half an hour later, John takes Tristan from Sherlock, so he can get up. The sofa will stay here for the new tenants. It makes things easier for Sherlock to know that Molly and Lestrade will treat the flat right.

For one last time, Sherlock puts on his Belstaff coat and with a last look, turns his back on 221B Baker street.

* * *

  
  


John and Sherlock get married in their back garden on a sunny August day. Sherlock’s parents, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, Mike and Clara sit and listen as they give their vows, while Rosie throws Rose petals and Tris runs around them like a mad man.

Elouise Katherine is born on the 7th of September. She is small and blond and perfect, and Sherlock is in love.

When Elouise is one, they buy a dog. They name him Gladstone. Rosie chose the name.

When Elouise is three, Sherlock publishes his first book on beekeeping. He has eight beehives by now and Rosie loves helping him with his studies. She has her own little section in his books. The world, and even bees, are more exciting form a child’s perspective

When Elouise is four, Molly calls to tell them she and Lestrade are having a baby.

When Eloise is five, Sherlock discovers the first grey hair on his head. He sulks all day and John laughs at him a little, before proving to Sherlock he’s still sexy. He needs to prove it two times more that night.

When Elouise is six, Rosie solves her first case by finding the neighbours cat. It’s also the day she meets her future husband, but none of them know until much later.

And with every year, Sherlock loves his family more.

  
 It is all Rosie's fault. And Tristan's. And Elouise's. 

And John's

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why the Boys always end up having three kids in my stories. Sorry, I'm just so obsessed with parentlock.
> 
> Thank you to my friend La for the idea with the ashtray.
> 
> It was hard for me to make the Boys leave Baker Street, but I have made them partly move to the Basement flat or buy another flat next door before and so I decided the three Watson-Holmes Kids should grow up on the Country side. 
> 
> This Story was so much fun to write. I wanted to write mpreg for so long and have failed to do so at least three times. Along came this idea and after minor struggles in the beginning, it was finished withing three days. I couldn't stop writing.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are what keep me going


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